We had hoped during the course of that day to procure assistance, but we were unsuccessful. We passed a number of fishermen's huts, but none of the men would consent to embark with us. At last, late that night, we reached a small farm about two-thirds of the way up the fjord, where we succeeded in procuring another large boat with a crew of five men. Here, also, we obtained a cup of coffee; and while we were awaiting the arrival of the boat I lay down on the pier and had a short nap. None but those who have toiled for it can fully appreciate the blessing of repose. It was a clear, calm night when we resumed our boat journey. The soft daylight threw a species of magical effect over the great mountains and the glassy fjord, as we rowed away with steady and vigorous strokes, and I lay down in the bow of the boat to sleep. The end of the mast squeezed my shoulder; the edge of a cask of beef well-nigh stove in my ribs; the corner of a box bored a hole in the nape of my neck--yet I went off like one of the famed seven sleepers, and my friend, although stretched out beside me in similarly unpropitious circumstances, began to snore in less than five minutes after he laid down. The last sounds I heard before falling into a state of oblivion were the voices of our fair companions joining in that most beautiful of our sacred melodies, the "Evening Hymn," ere they lay down to rest in the stern of the boat. Next morning at nine we arrived at the top of the fjord, and at the end, for a time at least, of our journeying. STORY THREE, CHAPTER 2. SALMON-FISHING EXTRAORDINARY. Norway, 14th July, 1868. Yesterday was a peculiar day in my experience of salmon-fishing in Norway. The day was dull when I set out for the river, seven miles distant, in a small boat, with a Norseman. A seven-miles' pull was not a good beginning to a day's salmon-fishing, the weight of my rod being quite sufficient to try the arms without that; but there was no help for it. Arrived there I got a native, named Anders, to carry the bag and gaff. Anders is a fair youth, addicted to going about with his mouth open, with a mild countenance and a turned-up nose. "Good weather for fishing, Anders," said I, in Norse. "Ya," said he, "megit god," (very good). This was the extent of our conversation at that time, for we came suddenly on the first pool in the river; and I soon perceived that, although the weather was good enough, the river was so flooded as to be scarcely fishable. And now began a series of petty misfortunes that gradually reduced me to a state of misery which was destined to continue throughout the greater part of that day. But Hope told me flattering tales--not to say _stories_--for a considerable time; and it was not until I had fished the third pool without seeing a fin that my heart began fairly to sink. The day, too, had changed from a cloudy to a rainy one, and Anders' nose began to droop, while his face elongated visibly.